Christine is Fiction, This is Real
by Squeebo
Summary: Dean pours everything he can into fixing the Impala, but his Baby isn't quite the same as before. Note: This is a short first chapter, think of it as the first 5 minutes.
1. Chapter 1

The engine revved and it's roar broke the night time silence of the street, it sat, rumbling for a moment before revving again, harder, louder, beginning to spin and squeal it's tyres.

Windows lit up with house lights, squares of yellow appeared on the lawns as people looked, curious and offended out to the street.

"What the hell?"

A few doors opened, letting out their pyjama clad and angry inhabitants.

One man in particular, the sheriff, balding, moustached, couldn't run fast enough once he'd walked into the middle of the road in front of the rumbling, roaring auto-mobile.

There was screaming, panicking as the car screamed around in the cul-de-sac, straightening up and facing the fallen man.

He groaned as he got up, and the high-beams blared, the car roared and screamed forward, out of the street, leaving bloody tyre tracks behind.


	2. Chapter 2

She was already broken, beaten, leaking oil, diesel and coolant, the seats were bloody and embedded with glass, the doors that could be opened rattled with shards of the windows.  
The fenders, grill, plates, everything that could have been bent was so. The truck smashed her so hard, the mirror on one side was flattened against the body of the car.  
Dean placed his hands on the hood of the impala, fingers spread wide, her smooth shiny black surface now bent and chipped, windshield half-gone, wipers were nowhere to be found, and he cried.  
He had lost so much, the one constant was his car. His Baby.  
He balled his hands into fists just thinking about what the demons have done, he slid his hands to his sides and looked at her front, snarled and jagged, lights bared and broken. He took hold of the mangled grill and pulled, it came off easily, and that started a great tirade, of curses, tears, he would tear this car apart and start again.  
He would show those demon bastards that he will not quit, and they will never get to him.


	3. Chapter 3

Scotty sat in his usual rocking chair, watching the sun dip low behind the buildings and relishing the cool, quiet night air.

The quiet was broken by a far off thundering, a solitary vehicle driving too fast, music blaring too loud. He stood on the porch, to watch the idiot driver approach, a black car tore down the road with it's lights on full-beam.  
It roared past him, brakes screeching as it halted a little way down the road.  
"Damn kids."  
He watched as the car sat in the middle of the road, it's engine running, revving loudly, music still blaring from inside.  
The engine then the music stopped and the car lights faded.  
"What's going on?"  
The Sheriff called from his own front door, jogging out in trousers and vest, looking about with squinted eyes at the dark street, he notices the car, then looks past it to Scotty.  
"Kids!" Scotty shouted.  
The Sheriff cursed and trotted up to the car, tapping roughly on it's black windows.  
"Come on out of there and talk to us."  
He crouched and looked in, squinting, unable to see, he tapped again.  
"This is a nice car you've got, boy-"  
The window rolled down and inch, the officer smiled in surprise to see a pair of wicked green eyes looking at him, they were pretty.  
"Miss, but you can't go blasting that noise when everyone's - hey!"  
The eyes only looked forward as the window rolled back up, and the engine started again. The Sheriff jumped back as the car lurched forward, kicking dust up at the houses as it turned.  
The Sheriff ran, across the street to the porch of Scotty's cafe, he jumped the short three steps and clung to the wall, Scotty managing to dive backwards as the car side-swiped the wooden structure.  
It reversed, snaking backwards to loosen the planks caught on it's bumper, once loose, it straightened up and charged again, this time churning up most of the porch, pushing splinters and chunks of wood in all directions.  
The men tried to slide along the wall, failing as the car reversed, faced them and ploughed into the porch again, it's bumper bent and snarled, scooping up the wood and crushing the whole lot against them, it reversed and they fell back.  
The music started, Scotty remembered the song, Led Zeppelin's 'When The Levee breaks' before he saw the car catch a pile of wood and jump. The last thing he and the Sheriff saw was the glaring headlights and the snarling grill.


	4. Chapter 4

It wasn't until Sam forced him inside to eat and sleep that Dean left the car. In that time, he had stripped her down, straightened her frame, replaced tires, metalwork and fixings.

She had a new chassis and axle, four tires and the front prepped and ready for her vitals.

He had salvaged side panels and a grill, an exhaust and two of four doors that waited for a new paint job in the garage.

The last thing he'd fixed before being dragged inside was the lights.

He couldn't recall connecting them to the electrics of the car, but when he returned in the early hours three days later, they were connected, wires tidy, almost professional.

"Hey, Baby."

He put down his toolkit and touched at the car's hood, drumming his fingers lightly against the metal.

"You're gonna be like new in no time."

He opened the hood, pausing it mid-way to look to the front seat, already he could see himself sitting there, looking over the shiny black new hood.

He didn't remember replacing the hood, he shook his head, blamed fatigue and continued.


	5. Chapter 5

Charging down the country lane, scattering animals, frightening birds, kicking dust behind it's tires, it swerved away from the animals, bouncing into ditches and forcing it's way back out, dragging clods of grass and dirt along with it.

When it reached the settlement, it tore around, weaving between mobile homes until nothing could be seen through the dust clouds, the car swung around to a stop, it's lights cut out and all that could be heard was a low rumble under the dust.

No doors opened to the dust, but faces peered out of windows, bewildered.

Then the car roared, lights flashed on, music blared, and it flew over the ground until it smashed into the home in front of it, splinters, planks, strips of metal flew in all directions.

When the car landed, it rattled, the force of speed and impact of jump caused it to buckle, but it continued, chugging rather than roaring, flattening the long grass down as it turned and headed back, aiming for the human that it had knocked out of the mobile, volume getting higher as it neared.

"How's it going?"

"She is going to be _cherry_, Sammy."

Sam walked around the vehicle, legitimately impressed with his brother's work, he finds Dean underneath the car, places a beer on the ground.

Dean rolls out and sits up, his back against the impala's door and picks up his beer as Sam continues to walk around the vehicle.

"What about this door?" (It was still dented, hanging from one hinge, window shattered.)

"I haven't found a spare, plus I gotta salvage some hinges, window, probably replace the inner workings..."  
"Alright, alright."

Dean chuckled and rested his head against the car's bodywork, feeling better than he had for the longest time, just sitting with his Baby, making sure she could be her best.

"You've got an odd way of working, dude."

"What?"

"I mean, you're all over the place. This is fantastic -" Sam points at the pristine hood as Dean stands with him, and then points to the battered side-panels. "And they're still a mess. Shouldn't you do the aesthetic stuff _last_?"

"When you have your own car, you can fix it however the hell you want."

He wouldn't admit that he couldn't remember fixing the hood, he knew Sam would force him to take a break again.

"But, I mean that one door... you haven't even touched -"  
"We barely use that door."

Sam stopped, shook his head and shrugged, his brother was stubborn, even moreso about his car, so he elected to stop criticising.

"So, what're you doing now?"

"Exhaust." He takes a swig and leads around to the back of the car. "Easy enough to find a new one, loads of dirt and grass stuck under there."

"Must've been when we were pushed into the bank." Sam suggested, leaning against the trunk.

As the back-end dipped, the stereo grew louder;

_"Hey! You! Get off of my cloud,_  
_Don't hang around 'cause two's a crowd."_

The sudden volume startled both the boys, Sam standing and covering his ears as Dean ran to the front of the vehicle, reaching in and flicking the volume down.

"Damn electrics."


End file.
